This whole time—this whole fucking time, she’d been here out of obligation. And whatever had changed between them, it hadn’t changed enough, not in the ways that mattered. Not in the ways that said out loud and without doubt, This person is mine.
He would’ve screamed that in the street for her, and he knew it was irrational, but it was also him. And he couldn’t change that.
“I was fine without you before,” he said, “and I’ll be fine again.”
The words should’ve felt like satisfaction. But as she flinched away from him, as she turned on her heel and stormed back to her family, as they gathered her belongings and bundled her into a car and drove her far, far away . . .
Jacob couldn’t shake the nagging feeling he’d just thoroughly fucked himself.
Chapter Twenty
It was funny how much could change in twenty-four hours.
According to the clock in Jacob’s office, it was a little past 1 A.M., and he was absolutely certain that this time yesterday he’d been dizzily blissful with Eve. Or maybe just sleeping next to Eve, which was basically the same thing. Either way, he’d been happy, totally unaware that he and Castell Cottage both were a temporary obligation. That he was making a fool of himself. That the feelings he incited in others would never reach the senseless heights of his own emotions.
But today there was no bliss, and no delusion, either. He’d spent all fucking day storming through Castell Cottage to remove signs of Public Enemy Number One, scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom and putting things back on the high shelves instead of the ridiculously low ones her adorable—her annoying—shortness had required, washing his sheets and also any sheets Eve herself had washed because they all retained a faint scent of vanilla (he’d checked), and so on and so forth.
After all that, he should be sleeping like the dead, but he couldn’t so much as nod off—not with a certain weight missing from the left side of his mattress. He was determined not to miss Eve, but his body hadn’t quite caught up. Fucking typical. Fucking infuriating. So here he was, sitting in his office, staring at spreadsheets until his eyes bled. Funnily enough, it wasn’t improving his mood.
With a muttered curse, Jacob jerked open his desk drawer searching for a distraction and found—
An AirPod. Right there, in the midst of his carefully organized sudoku magazines, resting on a heart-shaped sticky note that could only have come from one person. His stomach tensed, and he slammed the drawer shut again. Exhaled, hard. Stared at the wall, and swallowed every forbidden feeling that tried to creep up from his chest . . . until one slipped past his defenses and whispered in his ear.
She didn’t actually leave, you know. You sent her away.
Well, yeah. That had been the fucking point: sending her away before she could leave. He’d learned very early in life that obligation wasn’t enough to make anyone keep him. Eve wouldn’t have kept him, either, in the end, whether she realized it or not. So he should just—he should just fucking forget her.
Instead, he opened the drawer again with a shaking hand. Then he lifted out the AirPod and the sticky note, put them both on the desk, and read the flowing lines of Eve’s handwriting.
Jacob,
This is synched to my phone. If you keep one, we can listen to the same music while we do the housekeeping!
XOXO
Sunshine
It was the Sunshine that did it. Jacob stared at the note for long minutes, memories flickering through his mind like old film. He saw Eve’s eyes flash as she fired sarcasm and insults right back at him. Eve’s irrepressible smile as she laughed in the face of his irritation. Eve’s voice practically singing his name, as if she’d never met a word she liked better.
The feelings he didn’t want came thicker and faster, until there were far too many for Jacob to bat away. They crawled over him in a wave of uncomfortable warmth and impossible longing, whispering wild hopes he could never in a thousand years believe. But he wanted to. His heart twisted, almost pulling itself in two, because he wanted to believe those hopes so bad. They washed across his scorched earth like a gentle, cleansing wave, and suddenly, he saw everything a little differently.
Jacob, I wasn’t going to leave. I’d changed my mind. Okay? I wanted to stay.
She’d said that to him. She’d said that, out loud, and he’d dismissed it as not enough because . . .
Because he hadn’t believed her. He hadn’t been able to believe her. She hadn’t meant it, was just trying not to hurt him. Any other interpretation had felt impossible—still felt impossible now. His heart slammed up against old fears, fears that swore he should tread carefully or end up broken.
But instead of focusing on that—on the threat of his own pain—now Jacob focused on hers. Eve’s. She’d looked so fucking sad. And then so hurt. Because—what had he said to her?
Did you tell anyone?
As if he didn’t trust her. Well, he hadn’t trusted her. Only now did he realize what a fucking insult that must be. Only now did he realize that thinking so lowly of his own worth required him to think badly of Eve in turn. And he refused to do that. He’d promised her he wouldn't do that. God, he’d told her he wouldn't let go, and then, at the first sign of trouble, he’d pushed.
A scale tipped back and forth inside him like a seesaw, making him nauseous. On the one side was his own self-doubt, the weight of the idea that no one could stick around. But on the other side was Eve herself. The woman he knew her to be. Sweet, and sparkly, and a little chaotic—and smart, and caring, and real.
Eve could do anything. He definitely believed that. Which meant if she wanted to, she could choose Jacob.
But only if he let go of scales and doubts and all the little things that had made him shove her away. Only if he believed in himself, too.
He stood, swallowed, then picked up the note and the AirPod, shoving both in his pocket. Checking the clock, he strode out of his office and down the hall. He managed to restrain himself until he stepped out of Castell Cottage completely and into the cool night. Then he ran all the way to the Rose and Crown.
* * *
“Jesus, man, are you okay?”
Jacob stood in the doorway of the Rose and Crown, one hand on his thigh as he bent double, breathing hard. He hadn’t been for a run since fracturing his wrist, and according to his doctor’s advice, he probably shouldn’t have taken that one. But this was an urgent situation, so . . .
Catching his breath, he looked up at Mont, who was all wide-eyed astonishment and obvious alarm. He had a mop and bucket in his hands, and behind him, Katy, the barmaid, was drying glasses at the bar—or rather, she’d frozen in the act of drying glasses, and was also staring at Jacob.
He briefly considered dragging Mont off somewhere private for this little chat, then decided there was no time. If he didn’t get answers soon, he might die. Of uncertainty. Or love. Or regret. At least one of those had to be deadly, and possibly all three.
So he straightened up and just blurted it out. “I love Eve and I didn’t tell her. Do you think I should’ve told her?”
Mont blinked rapidly. At the bar, Katy made a strangled noise before putting down a glass and grabbing her phone in what she probably thought was a very subtle move. Fucking teenagers.
“I—I don’t know, mate,” Mont said finally. “Maybe. Probably. Are we going to talk, now, about why she left?” Because Mont had been bugging him since yesterday about it. So had Aunt Lucy. So, for God’s sake, had Liam, the man who never called or texted, managing to get on Jacob’s arse all the way from the United bloody States.